"We best get a meal into us and turn in, I have a feeling the next couple of days are going to be busy."
"Maybe," Sutherland suggested conspiratorially, "you should actually try to get some sleep."
CHAPTER 56
While Hyde Park was playing host to a scorching Wednesday afternoon, an army of storm clouds advanced across Sydney. Its mighty battalions, marching to the fl.ash and roar of cumulonimbus artillery, claimed a bloodless victory over the sunshine in minutes, cloaking the harbour city in a menacing veil of grey.
The heatwave had broken.
Sitting amidst the oaks, poplars and kaffir plum trees at the southern end of the park, Alex Morgan braced for the onslaught. Great timing, he thought, disconsolately gazing up at the sky as the canopy of trees above ebbed and fl.owed in petty skirmishes with the advancing winds.
Morgan had found an empty bench from where he could keep a clear eye on the area and approaches surrounding the Anzac War Memorial. It was where they expected the rendezvous would occur.
Sydney's Hyde Park, named after the original in London, encompassed 16 hectares of gardens, paths and monuments, squared at the southern end, rounded at the northern, and spilt in two by Park Street; a prime central city enclave nestled along the eastern-most edge of the city centre.
Surrounded by courts, churches, schools, hospitals, hotels and high-rise office blocks, Hyde Park was once a haven for horse racing, prize fighting and cricket, and a rallying point for post-war victory celebrations, political assemblies, protests and festivals alike. A refuge for those seeking reprieve from their employ and home to the Archibald Fountain, Captain Cook's statue and, where Morgan now sat, the Anzac War Memorial.
As Morgan observed the scene, office workers taking a break upon the park's carpet of downy grass, as well as the usual swarm of tourists, were all bringing their rest or play to an end before the storm. A final kick of a football, a picnic blanket wrapped up, a book reluctantly closed; there was an affable urgency everywhere. To his left, a gaggle of young school children out on an excursion squealed in protest as tired teachers insisted it was time to go, shepherding them towards a waiting bus.
Morgan's bench was to the west of two divisions of poplar trees that marched north from the memorial along the :flanks of the Lake of Reflection. The poplars offered Morgan a concealed position with a view across to the area of the man-made lake Cornell had hurriedly scratched onto a tourist map in his room and left for the police to find. Morgan could smell the rain's breath in the air, its unmistakable freshness growing stronger by the minute. Come on, you bastards, he thought, crawl out from under your rocks and let's see you. As if on cue, there came an ominous roar of thunder in the distance and the slightest hint of rain on his cheek.
"You there, Dave?" Morgan asked, speaking into a throat mike pinned discretely to the inside of his shirt, a skin tone earpiece as good as invisible. "Hear you loud and clear, bud," came che familiar Texan drawl. With his knee strapped post-surgery and armed with binoculars, laptop, phones and radios, Dave Sutherland had stayed put in his suite at the Regency as liaisonto local police and the link to INTREPID's covert ops headquarters in London. "Feeling lonesome?"
"Bored, more like," Morgan replied. "Anyone spot anything yet? If this weather comes in too soon, our friends may abort and all I'll have to show for it will be a wet arse."
"Sit tight," Sutherland responded. "If anything comes in you'll be the first to know."
Morgan had been on the bench for half an hour. The whole thing was a gamble. They were following Cornell based on Johnson's ploy to send Arena after him. Where Cornell would lead them, nobody really knew. Ifnothing else, the mere possibility of lundt turning up made it all worthwhile.
Morgan checked his watch. Almost 2 .40pm. The police had reported Cornell's departure from the Novotel around half past one. He had left the Darling Harbour hotel alone on foot and headed off across the bridge to Cockle Bay, meandering through the working city's streets, all the way up to the Archibald Fountain, at the other end of Hyde Park. According to the police surveillance teams, Cornell had been instructed to take a predetermined route, complete with tortuous flourishes designed to throw off any pursuer. It was an old tactic. Clearly, somebody else was shadowing Cornell to see if he, in turn, was being followed. Fortunately, the cops had picked up on the ploy and had sufficient officers on the ground to throw down their own counter-surveillance smokescreen.
While all this was going on, Morgan had taken up his current position. It first appeared that Cornell would settle at the opposite end of the park. But, after an excruciating few minutes, Cornell was on the move, walking along the avenue of Moreton Bay fig trees linking the park. He strode purposefully across Park Street at the traffic lights, heading to the point he had marked on the map.